HE IS MY HUSBAND. OH, SPARE HIS LIFE.
Irene soon discovered that her cries and her struggles were quite
useless. The strong arm of Oleah held her firmly in the saddle, and the
powerful horse swept steadily on. Night was falling fast, and she
observed that the country, through which she was passing, was entirely
strange to her; but, judging from their course, they would pass the Twin
Mountains before morning. Looking appealingly into the dark, determined
face, she said:
"Even now it is not too late, Oleah; take me home."
"Can you not trust me, Irene?" he answered, with a look of tenderness
veiling the fire of his black eyes. "You are mine already, because you
love me. No, your lips have not said it, but your eyes have betrayed
you. I am fulfilling an oath, the violation of which would be perjury
and the eternal ruin of my soul."
"What can you mean?" she cried. "Oh, you are mad, mad!"
"I have been mad," he answered. "A fire has been raging in my breast,
that had almost burned my life away. One word from you would end my
torture. What is the reason that locks your lips!"
"Is it a proof of your love that you take me from my home to a soldiers'
camp, bringing disgrace to me and grief to those to whom I owe more than
life?"
"I am taking you to no soldiers' camp. No rude gaze shall fall on your
sweet face, and no rude words reach your ear. You shall sleep safely
to-night within four walls, your companion gentle and kind, and men with
strong arms and brave hearts shall guard the door, each willing and
ready to lay down his life for yours."
They rode on over hill and vale, crossed streams and passed through
grand old forests.
It was near midnight when they crossed a small, rocky stream and
approached two log cabins that stood at the foot of the Twin Mountains.
The moon had risen, and the Autumn night was calm and peaceful. The cry
of night birds or the rustling of leaves, stirred by the light breezes,
were the only sounds that broke the stillness. The tall mountain peaks
in the distance looked like giant sentinels keeping guard over a
sleeping world.
A man stood in front of the most comfortable looking of the two cabins,
apparently waiting for Oleah and his party. He was dressed in the gray
uniform, had a very red head, red whiskers, red eyelashes, red eyebrows,
and red freckles on his face. This Irene noticed as he came forward to
assist her to alight. The next thing she noticed, was his musket leaning
against the cabin wall.
"Is every thing arranged, Jackson?" asked Oleah, as he sprang from the
saddle.
"Every thing, captain; the cabin is as neat as a pin," and the
red-headed soldier lifted his cap, blinking and nodding his head.
"Did you bring your wife?"
"Yes, sir; Mrs. Jackson is in the house, sir, and will wait on the young
lady," again touching his cap, blinking and nodding his head.
"You will stay here to-night, Irene," said Oleah.
She knew that, for the present, she must yield; yet she determined to
resist when the time should come. She found a neat, pleasant looking
woman within the cabin, evidently a mountaineer's wife, and supper ready
laid for her. But she was too much agitated to eat, only tasting a cup
of fragrant coffee. She noticed that the cabin in which she was confined
bore evidence in more places than one of bullet marks, and rightly
conjectured that there had been a recent fight there, though she little
dreamed that she was so near the spot where Crazy Joe had breathed his
last, and that she was beneath the roof that had so long sheltered him
and Uncle Dan Martin, the hunter. It was nearly morning when she threw
herself on the bed Mrs. Jackson had so carefully prepared for her, and
in spite of her strange surroundings, her anxiety, her dark forebodings,
she slept soundly.
Morning came, and she ate Mrs. Jackson's carefully prepared breakfast,
assiduously waited on by that pleasant-voiced woman. Irene noticed that
no man entered the room. Mr. Jackson came to the door occasionally, to
bring wood or water for his wife, but never entered. From the sound of
voices without, she knew that there must be a dozen or more men about
the house, yet she saw none save the red-headed Mr. Jackson, who was
evidently on his best behavior, and never approached the cabin door
without removing his cap.
Though her comfort was carefully provided for, Irene saw that her every
movement was watched and guarded. There was no possible chance of
escape, surrounded by a guard so vigilant. About the middle of the
afternoon, Oleah, who had evidently been away, returned, and with him
came a man dressed in citizen's garb, with a meek face and frightened
air, and the same four cavalrymen who had accompanied them the previous
day. The man in citizen's garb, she was sure, must be a prisoner. Oleah
approached the door with the meek-looking, timid stranger, and both
entered. At a motion the four cavalrymen followed.
"Irene," began Oleah, "it is necessary, in these troublesome times, that
I have the right to protect you. This is a clergyman. We will be married
now."
"I will never marry you, Oleah," said Irene, firmly, her beautiful hazel
eyes flashing fire on her determined lover.
Without another word, Oleah forcibly took her right hand in his, then he
turned to the clergyman and said:
"You know your duty, sir; proceed."
"But, sir, if the young lady is unwilling--if she refuses----"
"She will not--does not," said Oleah.
"I do! I do! I do!" cried Irene, struggling to free her hand.
"Go on, sir!" said Oleah, sternly.
The four cavalrymen ranged themselves behind their master, and the poor
clergyman cast about him one desperate glance, and then, in faltering
tones, began the marriage ceremony. Oleah's responses came deep and low,
but Irene's "No, no, never!" rang out loud and clear.
At a sign from the young captain, one of the tall cavalrymen quickly
stepped behind her and forced her to bow assent.
The minister stopped, aghast.
"Go on, sir; go on!" thundered Oleah, his eyes gleaming.
The terrified clergyman concluded the ceremony, pronouncing them man and
wife, and then, burying his face in his hands, burst into tears.
Immediately upon conclusion of the marriage ceremony, Oleah obtained a
certificate of marriage from the minister, who was then allowed to
depart under the escort of the faithful four, and Mrs. Jackson followed,
them from the room, leaving Oleah alone with his reluctant bride.
"Irene, my Irene," said Oleah, in his low, thrilling tones, "this was my
only hope. In peaceful times I might have pressed my suit as others
do--I might have wooed and waited; but to wait now was to lose you. Will
not my wife forgive me?" he cried, imploringly.
"This is no marriage--I am not your wife!" said Irene, in a low, steady
voice. "Leave me! You have forfeited even a brother's claim. No, no; I
will not listen to you!" she cried desperately, as Oleah came a step
nearer. "You will not leave me, then! You will force me to defend
myself!" As she spoke she snatched a pistol from his belt and leveled
the weapon at his heart.
Oleah folded his hands. "Fire if you wish," he said calmly. "Death at
your hands is preferable to life without your love."
She lowered the pistol, the flush faded from her face, her eyes grew
misty with tears.
"If to love you is a crime, deserving death, then, indeed, you shall be
my executioner; for never did mortal love as I love you."
She hesitated a moment, then laid the revolver on the table, and sinking
into a chair burst into tears.
"Heaven forgive you!" she sobbed, "for the misery you have caused!"
"It is your forgiveness I want, my darling," he said. "I will leave you
now since you bid me. To-morrow you shall be returned to your home, and
I will never come to you save at your bidding."
She did not lift her bowed head. There was a moment's stillness, broken
only by her sobs. Then Oleah took the pistol from the table, returned it
to his belt, and left the room.
It was scarcely daylight when Uncle Dan ordered every man to the saddle.
The drowsy soldiers protested, declaring the music of the crowing cock
made them the more sleepy, but their leader was inexorable. Every man
must be prepared to mount in thirty minutes. Breakfast over, they filed
out of the barnyard, while the darkness of the night still hovered in
the shadows of the thick forest. Uncle Dan had not deemed it prudent to
reveal the interview of the night before, and none of the men knew what
direction they were to take or what was to be their destination.
When they had reached a clearing in the woods, the men were drawn up in
a double circle, and the old scout rode in their midst, and, holding in
his hand his broad-brimmed hat (he would not wear the regimental cap),
he addressed them:
"Now, boys, we're gwine where there will likely be some powder burnt and
some lead scattered about loose. The gal, you heerd about last night, is
up near the Twin Mountains, and we've got to get back home to-night. But
the whole place is alive with guerrillas and bushwhackers and you may
bet there'll be some hurting done. I want every man to be prepared and
not to be taken by surprise. Look out for a big bushwhack, and be
prepared to shoot at half a second's notice. Keep yer guns in yer hand
and yer fingers near the locks. That's all, come on!"
He led the way at a gallop, and the others followed, their horses' hoofs
clattering on the frosty ground. The sun was just now rising over the
eastern hills, and grass and leaves and bare brown twigs glittered
resplendent in its rays. The country, over which they were passing, was
rough and broken, with occasional bottom lands, covered with gigantic
forest trees, and the morning air was clear and chilly, as they swept so
swiftly through it, close after their veteran commander, who was a
striking figure mounted on his powerful bay horse, with the broad brim
of his hat turned back from his earnest bronze face. He kept the
bridle-rein in the same hand that held his trusty rifle on the pommel of
his saddle, leaving the other free for any emergency--the emergency
most frequently arising now being the persistent flapping of his
hat-brim. The sun was two hours high at least and was fast dissolving
the crystal covering that glittered above the denuded vegetation, when
they came to the creek that flowed by the mountain cabins. Just beyond
the creek rose the Twin Mountains, not more than a mile away, and the
cabins were within a few hundred yards. They had traveled sixteen miles
or thereabout that morning, and men and horses were weary with the rough
riding. The creek was thickly fringed with timber, yet retaining the
leaves, which the florist had turned from green to brown and gold. Uncle
Dan paused, before the creek was reached, and urged his men to use their
utmost caution, the objects of their search were in two cabins just
beyond the stream.
"One thing I want ye all to understand," he said, with great concern.
"That gal, what the rebels took in, is in one of them cabins, and no
shot must be fired into 'em for fear o' hurting her. Remember, not a
hair o' her head must be touched."
They halted, and Uncle Dan, with twelve picked men, dismounted and
proceeded ahead on foot, while the others remained under cover, until a
signal should be given to surround the cabins.
It happened, that the red-headed rebel, Jackson, had gone to the stream
with two pails to bring water for his wife. A thin skim of ice overlaid
the stream, which Mr. Jackson must break in order to get his water. Not
finding any stick or other implement at hand, he used the bottom of one
of his pails, and the thumping and splashing made so much noise that our
friend did not hear the footsteps gradually approaching him, and, so
much engaged was he, that he did not observe two men in blue uniform
standing just behind him until he had filled his pails and turned to go
to the house.
Had two ghosts suddenly started up before him, he could not have dropped
his buckets more quickly.
"Bless me!" gasped Jackson. "Where in the world did you come from?"
Uncle Dan laid his hand on Jackson's shoulder telling him he was a
prisoner.
"Yes, I kinder expected that for some little time," he answered,
looking about in blank astonishment, as the soldiers, one by one, stole
noiselessly from among the thick bushes.
"Do you belong to that house?" said Uncle Dan, pointing in the direction
of the cabins.
"I did," replied Jackson, bowing politely to the veteran scout, "before
you took me in charge."
"How many men are up there now!" asked Uncle Dan.
"There are but seven, now, sir."
"How many women?"
"Two, sir."
"Who are they?"
"My wife, sir, and the wife of Captain Tompkins."
"Wife of Captain Tompkins! When was he married?"
"Yesterday, sir."
"Is Oleah Tompkins your captain?"
"He is, sir," with a polite bow.
"Then, sir," said Uncle Dan with vehemence, "all I have to say is, that
you have a d--d rascal for a captain."
Mr. Jackson bowed in acknowledgment.
"Where is Captain Tompkins now?"
"He went back to the command, sir, but will be here in a few minutes
with more men."
"The infernal scoundrel!"
Mr. Jackson bowed politely.
"Bang!" came a musket-shot, and the ball whistled over the heads of the
men grouped on the banks of the stream. The shot came from the direction
of the cabins.
Uncle Dan gave the signal, and the thunder of twenty horses' feet coming
down the hill instantly followed.
"Two of you stay and guard the prisoner, the rest follow me!" cried
Uncle Dan, as he started up the hill, closely followed by his entire
force, for every man was anxious to be in at the rescue, and every one
expected that some one else would guard the prisoner, who, in
consequence, was not guarded at all. Finding himself wholly deserted by
the excited soldiery, Jackson hurried away down the stream. He looked
injured and neglected, and slunk away, as in shame, from the men who so
obstinately avoided his company.
Uncle Dan never paused in his headlong pursuit of the flying enemy
until he had reached the door of the cabin. Irene and Mrs. Jackson had
been both surprised and terrified by the shouting and the discharge of
firearms, but it was not until Uncle Dan stood in the doorway that
either realized that Irene's rescue was the object of the attacking
party.
With a wild cry, Irene sprang from the cabin into the arms of the old
scout.
"Uncle Dan, Uncle Dan, take me home! Promise me you will take me home!"
she cried as she clung to the veteran.
"You bet I will, my little angel?" replied the old man, brushing the
gathering moisture from his eyes. "How long have you been here?"
"Night before last I was brought here."
"Is there any one with you in the cabin?"
"No one but a poor woman, who is frightened almost to death."
"Well, wait here till I get my men together, and then I will hear all
about this rascally business."
When Irene went back into the cabin, it was her turn to comfort her
companion with assurance of safety, but Mrs. Jackson was in an agony of
dread as to the probable fate of her husband.
Uncle Dan had no need to recall his men, for they were already returning
from the useless pursuit of the flying Confederates, who were now
ascending the mountain side a mile away.
When he ordered them to bring up the prisoner, that had been captured at
the creek, the soldiers looked inquiringly one at another; every one
declared it was the business of some one else to have remained on guard.
It soon became evident that no one had been left behind to care for the
red-headed rebel, and that he had resented this lack of attention by
departing. Uncle Dan instructed his sergeant to make preparations for
immediate return to Snagtown and then went into the house.
Mrs. Jackson met him with anxious inquiries if her husband had been
killed.
"What kinder man was he--red hair?"
"Yes, oh yes! Is he dangerously wounded?"
"And red eyebrows?"
"Yes, yes, yes! Pray tell me the worst at once."
"And red eyelashes--long and red?"
"Yes, oh yes! Pray don't keep me in suspense."
"And a red face?"
"Yes, yes!"
"And was carryin' two buckets for water?"
"Oh, heavens! Yes. I know he is killed. Tell me where he lays that I may
find him."
"Madam," said Uncle Dan, gravely, "that red man made his escape, as well
as all the others."
The look of blank confusion and joyful amaze that overspread Mrs.
Jackson's face was singular to behold. The old scout, having thus
summarily disposed of Mrs. Jackson, turned to Irene and drew from her
the relation of all that had happened to her since the evening she had
left. When she had concluded with her forced marriage, she burst into
tears.
"The rascal!" said Uncle Dan, with energy. "Both a rascal and a fool.
Where did he go?" he asked, after a moment's pause.
"I do not know," said Irene, weeping softly. "He left a few minutes
after, and I have not seen him since."
"I don't know much about law," said Uncle Dan, after a few minutes'
reflection, "but I know that ain't no wedding worth a cent."
"I did not agree to it, I did not consent, but the clergyman pronounced
us man and wife," sobbed Irene.
"I don't care if he did, I heard a lawyer once say that marriage was a
civil contract, and if any one was induced to marry by fraud, or forced
to marry any one they did not want to, it was no good. Now, although I
aint a lawyer, I know you aint married, unless you want to be."
Irene still sat sobbing before the fire by the broad fire-place, which
Uncle Dan's own hands had built.
At this moment a soldier looked in and said:
"The rebs are comin' down the mountains re-enforced."
"Be quiet, honey, an' I'll see you are protected. Don't leave the cabin
unless I tell you to."
Uncle Dan hastened out, snatching his rifle from the door, as he went,
and looked up towards the mountains. Twenty-five or thirty
Confederates, headed by Oleah Tompkins, were riding at a gallop toward
them.
"They mean business, Uncle Dan," said a young man, who stood by the old
man's side.
"Yes, an' 'twouldn't s'prise me if some of them git business," replied
the old man.
"That is Oleah Tompkins at their head, Uncle Dan. You'll not shoot at
him to hit?" said the youthful soldier.
"I never thought the time would come when I would harm a hair o' his
head, but things air changed now, and as Randolph said about Clay, 'if I
see the devil in his eye, I'll shoot to kill,'" replied Uncle Dan,
examining the priming of his rifle.
"Fall in," commanded Uncle Dan.
The line was formed.
"Now wait till I fire an' then follor suit."
Oleah presented a tempting mark for any rifle, as he approached so
fearlessly with his revolver in his right hand. Uncle Dan, though not
without a twinge of conscience at what he was doing, leveled his deadly
rifle at that head, which, when a child, had so often nestled on his
breast.
Uncle Dan was a certain shot at that range, and every step Oleah took
was bringing him to surer death. Unconscious of his danger, or perfectly
reckless of consequences, the young Confederate urged his powerful black
horse on. The old man held his heavy rifle in the palm of his right
hand, the breech was balanced against his right shoulder, and his aim
was as steady and true as if he were sighting a deer, instead of a human
being he had known for years and loved from childhood.
"The d--d rascal!" he hissed between his clenched teeth. "He's ruined
the gal, and now he shall die."
Just as his finger touched the trigger, Irene sprang from the doorway
and struck the rifle from its intended mark. The ball whizzled two feet
above the head of the Confederate captain.
"What do you mean?" said the old man, turning, in sharp surprise.
A roar of rifle-shots drowned any reply that Irene might have made.
Oleah had escaped the deadly bullet of the old scout, but some of the
many shots, that immediately followed, struck him. The revolver dropped
from his hand, his horse reared and plunged in terror, and then both
rider and steed fell, a helpless mass, to the ground.
Then all eyes were astonished at the sight of a slender figure, with
loosened hair streaming in the wind, hastening through the deadly shower
of balls to the fallen man's side; and all ears were astonished by her
wild cry:
"Spare, oh, spare his life! _He is my husband!_"